Lifeboats
by seilleanmor
Summary: When you get those rare moments of clarity, those flashes when the universe makes sense, you try desperately to hold on to them. They are the lifeboats for the darker times. A season 4 AU based on the fanvideo by OhChizzz.
1. Chapter 1

**Lifeboats**

* * *

based on the fan video trailer, Lifeboats, by** OhChizzz**

* * *

"Daddy?"

He glances up from his laptop, the tidal wave of words from his fingertips halted momentarily in the wake of his daughter's voice. "Yeah Pumpkin?"

He watches her chew on her bottom lip, reaches up to catch that persistent niggling itch that he's had across the back of his shoulder all morning. His fingernails scrape across the rope of his muscle and up into his hair, skin like grit under his hands.

Alexis looks up at him, her eyes swollen with hope. It still startles him sometimes, the endlessly enchanting blue. Knocks the breath right out of his chest. "Daddy, we have a rotation to take Henry the hamster home at the weekends and because I'm C for Castle I get to have him next weekend if you say it's okay and you will say it's okay right Daddy? Because I really really want to take him home."

"Are you sure you can be responsible and remember to feed him?" He folds his arms, turns his chair with a foot braced against the floor. Just a little, enough to face his kid.

She clasps her hands in front of her, her bones thin reeds that nudge underneath her skin, elbows and wrists swollen-looking. She's got her hair in a braid, tossed over her shoulder and like gossamer of fire all the way to her waist. He needs to take her to get it cut at some point. The golden light of the morning seems woven into her braid, if she shook her head it might pool at her feet.

"Yes. Oh _yes _Daddy, I know I can."

Castle can't help but grin at his little girl, such passion in her tiny frame. He shrugs and she squeals, comes flying towards him so fast his chair rocks backwards. Her arms are tight around his neck, her face buried against him as she shrieks. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you."

"Whoa, hey, Pumpkin." He gets his hands around her waist, a part of him still totally floored by the way he dwarfs her, and he lifts, sets her on her feet. "This is a big responsibility, okay. You have a whole_ life_ depending on you."

"Yeah, but I'm sensible. And if _you_ can look after _me_ then I think I can do it." She laughs at him, that teasing smirk that shouldn't be so adorable but so totally is.

He really does have a great kid.

"Alright then. I look forward to meeting our houseguest." Alexis laughs again, presses a sloppy kiss on his cheek before she goes.

He watches her a moment, slices of her body visible through his bookshelf wall. And yes, thank you, he knows he mostly lets her walk all over him. He does. But he can't give her a mom.

So she can have the damn hamster.

He turns back to his laptop, caught up again in the world of Derrick Storm. He woke in the night to skin clammy and too thick, burning with it, and he couldn't find sleep again. So he wrote, nonsense painted with the ink of two am and the shards of fever in his brain.

It's worrying him, actually. It's not the first time he's been wrenched from sleep by his blood boiling over, spilling up out of him to pool in his sheets. His mother can see the lines of exhaustion stitched around his eyes, keeps asking him to see someone.

He's fine. He's fine, his mother is fine, Alexis is fine. Everything's fine.

Except that damn itch crawling underneath his skin, tiptoeing across the rope of his neck.

* * *

Rick is stretched out on the couch when his kid gets home, his laptop forgotten on the floor and his eyes closed. He hears her come in, the soft thump of her bag hitting the floor, a half-smothered squeak as she almost unbalances toeing off her shoes, and then she flops down over the back of the couch, landing heavy on his stomach.

All the air pushes up out of him and he huffs, catches his girl around the shoulders to hoist her up against him, kiss the top of her head. "Hey there Pumpkin. Good day?"

"Yeah. We finished up the book and we get to write our own different ending for it next week and that's so cool, right Dad?"

Rick grins at her, tugs on the end of her braid. It always makes her blink, and she scowls like she's ashamed of her own reflexes. So damn cute, his sweet girl. "Yeah, that's pretty cool."

Alexis grins at him, sits up on his thigh with her legs over his lap, toes brushing the coffee table. "Did you and Derrick have a good day?"

"_I'm_ having a good day. _Derrick_ got shot."

"_Again_? Oh Daddy."

"Hey now, it's not my fault. Like I said, he does what he wants. I just tell everyone else about it." He runs his fingers up his daughter's sides, laughs when she squirms to get away. She's mature and sensible and smart but really, so very ticklish.

She shrieks, flops down back against him and blows a violent raspberry against his neck, her little hands clawing at his sides in an effort to tickle him back.

He writhes underneath her, sucks in a gasp at the sharp press of her knee into his ribs. Alexis stills, breathless on top of him with her eyes closed, and then the so-soft skin between her brows furrows, her eyes coming open to look at him. "Daddy, what's that egg thing?"

"What egg thing?"

"On your neck."

* * *

He is too tired for this.

He-

Damn it, he spent all of yesterday at the hospital while his kid was at school, being poked and prodded and probed so the doctors could answer his daughter's question. They don't know what the egg thing is either.

Yet.

But Alexis already has her party dress on, her hair pinned half-back. Her grandmother must have done that for her, it's way neater than her usual attempts at fancy styles. "Daddy, are we gonna go?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. Sorry. Do you think you could help me choose a tie?"

She beams, bounces down onto his bed with her legs crossed and holds her hands out for his collection. He passes them all to her, sits in the easy chair opposite.

"Hmm. Your shirt is white, Daddy. So you should wear a tie that's purple." She grins, holds out a patterned tie in two shades of purple. He wants to call it damask, but maybe not.

He takes it, holds it against his sleeve to check the match. "I don't know, Pumpkin. It seems a little much."

"Didn't Mom get you that tie on your birthday?"

"Oh. Yeah. I think she did." He shrugs, passes the thing back to his daughter. "You know what? I do have a pretty fat neck, huh? Maybe I shouldn't wear a tie at all."

Alexis beams, all of the ties she'd had cradled in her lap like precious gems carelessly dropped onto the floor. "Oh _yes_. That's perfect. You said it was a casual event and that's why I get to go. So no tie."

"No tie." Rick undoes the top two buttons of the shirt, toes on his shoes. "Are you sure you still want to come?"

"It's a _party_, Daddy. Don't _you_ want to go? I thought you like them."

He shrugs, finds words spilling out despite himself. Probably too much for a nine year old to understand, but she's a good kid. Smart. "These parties, they've become so predictable." He pulls a ridiculous face, pretends to be one of the vapid women he knows make his kid uncomfortable. "I'm your biggest _fan_, where do you get your _ideas_?"

Alexis giggles, both hands pressed to her mouth like she thinks she shouldn't but she can't quite help herself. "Just once, I'd like someone to come up to me and say something new."

"I can say new things, Daddy. Why is a raven like a writing desk?" She puffs up her chest, grins at him expectantly.

He shakes his head, takes her hand to tug her up from the bed. She has her shoes on already, her coat, and she hands him his jacket, her hand leaving his for just long enough to shrug it on. "That's not new, Pumpkin. When was that book written?"

"Uhmm, eighteen sixty five?" She grins up at him, tugs on his arm to get him moving towards the door. "But no one has an answer yet so it totally counts."

"Okay. Sure. It counts."

* * *

His publisher rounds on him as soon as the elevator doors open, meeting his eyes over the top of his daughter's head.

"Richard. You took your sweet time getting here."

He steps out, a hand at Alexis' back to keep her close. "I'm sorry. I just lost track of time a little."

"What's the kid doing here?" The woman barely even glances at Alexis, her ridiculous heels putting her almost at his eye level and a good two feet taller than his daughter.

Rick runs a hand over Alexis' hair, allows himself a moment to cup the back of her head and bite his tongue. "Pumpkin, I can see Gram just over there. Why don't you go and say hello?"

He watches her move across the rooftop towards the bar, some of the guests stopping to smile at her and some turning their backs. He's still not convinced her being here is a good idea, but she begged him and he really hates leaving her with a sitter.

She reaches her grandmother safely, his mother opening her arms in a hug that does something to ease the tightness in his lungs so he can turn back to his publisher. "Gina, she's my daughter. She has every right to be here."

"I assume this means you're not going to stay late, then?" She scowls at him, her body just a little too near to his to be platonic. She's a shark, and he still can't quite work out whether she hates him or wants in his bed.

Maybe a little of both.

"I'll make the speech, stick around to chat for a while. Make sure everyone sees my face. And then I'll leave. Don't worry, no one will even notice."

Gina huffs, shakes her head so her curls brush her shoulders, the city lights soaking into the platinum blonde and casting it a shade of orange that turns his stomach.

Too much like Meredith. It's been six years, but he's still sore over it. Still sometimes opens the door to the loft half-expecting her to be straddling a director on their couch.

"And I can't change your mind?"

"No. Now if you'll excuse me, my mother beckons."

He leaves Gina to greet the flood of people pouring out of the elevator, goes to meet his mother at the bar. She's got her head bent to talk to Alexis, one hand at his daughter's back and the other cradling her wine glass.

Rick comes to Alexis' other side, kisses the top of her head and leans over to kiss his mother as well, tasting makeup at her cheek. "What are you two up to?"

"I was telling Gram about Henry."

His mother shoots him a look over the top of his kid's head, her mouth stitched closed. The ugly slash of her lipstick looks unnatural in the pale light from above the bar and he shifts, waits for his mother to give him some sort of clue.

"She was. And about your egg thing, Richard-"

"Not right now. We'll talk, Mother. I promise. Just not right now."

Please God not here. Not with everyone watching.

* * *

Alexis squeals when she sees her grandmother, goes flying down the center aisle towards the stage. Her hair streams out behind her, skirt catching about her knees. She's got tights on and they slipped down with her wriggling around in the car; he can almost see the join between the two legs hang below her hemline.

Martha laughs, reaches down to swing the girl up onto the stage and envelop her in a hug. Rick watches, heart in his mouth, as his mother's colleagues crowd round his daughter, asking her all about school and 'where did you get such a pretty dress, kiddo?'

It's always been this way. Right from the moment she was born, his baby captured the attention of everyone around her, those startling eyes so wise and knowing when they focused on his face. And now here she is.

His beautiful girl.

Rick clears his throat, makes his way to the stage and his mother. He holds his hands up for her to lift him onto the stage and she laughs, head thrown back to project her mirth to the ever-present spectral audience.

He goes for the stairs, finds himself coming up and into a spotlight, his mother meeting him there. She kisses both of his cheeks and then brings her hands up to frame his face; forces him to look at her. "Now Richard. You're sure you don't want me to go with you?"

He sighs just a little, steps back from her. "Yes, Mother, I'm sure. Everything will be fine. Just take care of my kid."

"Don't I always?" She laughs, waves her hands through the air. He falters, watches dust motes lit from within by the limelight and wheeling in front of him, carefully not answering her.

His mother brushes right past it, won't acknowledge the times she's messed up, the times he's come home to find her and a gaggle of her friends intoxicated, his daughter sitting at the top of the stairs, chin on her knees and feet bare. Not so often now, not for a long time, but it still makes him uneasy.

And yeah, he knows he's made mistakes himself, but he has never, ever stopped putting his little girl first. His eyes shutter closed and he has to turn away a little, collect himself. It's crushing, sometimes. Knowing he can't ever give her the perfect family, stability and normality and a mother's love.

And then Alexis is coming for him. He kneels down to meet her eyes, wraps his arms around her and runs a hand over her braid, tries to smooth out some of the flyaways. "You be good for Gram, okay."

"Okay Daddy. See you later." She has such a beautiful smile, her mouth in a gentle curve that shows all her teeth, her eyes sparkling.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, breathes in the rich strawberry scent of her hair. "Yeah, see you soon Pumpkin."

Rick starts to move away, finds himself jerking back towards her. She's got her hand hooked into his pocket, gossamer threads of hope spooling out of her to catch him up and keep him there. "Daddy? I love you."

"Oh, Alexis. Sweetheart, I love you too. So much." He lifts her, cradles her warmth against his body and shifts back and forth, the way he did when she was a newborn. His hand cups her head, the soft heat against his palm soothing something that pulses in his chest, sharp and aching.

She buries her face against his neck a moment and then he kneels down again, sets her on her feet. "You have fun with Gram, okay? I'll see you at dinner time."

* * *

The doctor's office is not threatening.

Seriously, he needs to get a grip. The building is not going to swallow him, the nurses are not staring. Ridiculous, totally.

And yet he's sweating right through his suit, his palms clammy with it. He holds his breath in the elevator, finds himself forging rituals that make no sense but he knows will keep him safe. If he can just keep his breath locked up safe in his lungs until he reaches the ninth floor he'll be okay.

The nurse smiles at him and he manages to stretch his mouth into a half curve in response, grit out something that might be _hello_. Now that he doesn't have to be strong for his kid the hollow spaces in between his bones are growing wider, his body cracking open.

He brings a hand up to press two fingers to the lump in his neck like a touchstone, will it back inside. It has to be nothing. There isn't another option.

"Mr Castle?" He glances up, sees that same nurse watching him. There's too much tenderness on her face, a saccharine sort of pity that turns his stomach, has his fingers curling up to press against his palms. "Dr Kelekian will see you now."

Rick gets up, has to lock his knees for a moment to keep standing before he can take a step. It's a battle but he makes it, palm flat against the door of the doctor's office as he takes a fortifying breath. Rip off the bandaid, right?

He shoves the door open, maybe a little too forcefully if the startled snap of Kelekian's gaze upwards is any indication, but whatever. The man recovers quickly, gets up to shake Rick's hand. A hot line of shame snakes its way down his spine at his still-clammy palms, how they give him away before he's even had a chance to school his features.

"Mr Castle, please have a seat."

The chair is too soft, pre-emptively trying to comfort him. He wants to keep believing that everything's fine. He has to, because he will not fall apart in front of this man.

"We have the results of your biopsy back. I'm afraid it's not good news." Doctor Kelekian swallows, glances briefly at Rick and then back to the file in front of him, his eyes too dark. Somehow so sinister behind the wire frame glasses, the shock of grey hair casting him as a villain.

"There's no easy way to say this."

Rick swallows, curls his hands underneath the seat of the chair to hold on, tether himself. And he knows, he does, before the words are even out.

"You have cancer."

* * *

**Come and say hello!**

**Twitter: seilleanmor**

**Tumblr: katiehoughton**


	2. Chapter 2

**Lifeboats**

* * *

Just like that, his lungs collapse.

His ribcage is a ladder of bone, carving out foothold after foothold to ascend his chest cavity, and now the rungs are crumbling. Molasses leach in; fill him from the bottom up. He claws for purchase at the underside of his chair, eyes swinging wildly and then landing heavy on the floor.

Rick manages a breath, tasting like blood and tar at the back of his throat but there, keeping him alive. Okay, a breath. Eyes closed. Another.

One more.

Good. Air. The creeping shadows at the edges of his vision draw back, settle in embryonic wisps low in his stomach.

"You're sure?"

"I'm afraid so." Doctor Kelekian nudges the box of tissues on his desk towards Rick, but he doesn't need them. He's not crying. He's holding it together. There isn't another option.

He sits up a little straighter, tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket. Like funeral clothes, his mother said earlier. She's not wrong. "What, uh- what do I do?"

"We'll devise a treatment plan. I want to start with radiotherapy, since we've caught it early, but we'll most likely have to do a course of chemotherapy as well." The doctor folds his hands, sets them on top of Rick's notes on the desk. "Things look good, Mr Castle. I'm very confident about your prospects."

"Okay. And, uh- is there anything else I can do? Lifestyle changes or something?" He knots his fingers together in his lap, the still-clammy digits fumbling for purchase against one another.

Kelekian nudges a pamphlet across the desk towards him, his face lined with a pity that turns Rick's stomach. "I know you don't smoke currently, so don't start. Try to cut down on the amount of alcohol you drink. Eat well, get enough sleep. Exercise if you feel up to it. There's more information in the pamphlet."

Shit.

A pamphlet. He has a pamphlet on coping with cancer.

He has cancer.

* * *

The leaves crack under his feet as he walks through the park, fall rolling in already. He ducks his chin, wishes he'd thought to wear a scarf today.

Ahead of him on the path, a woman walks hand in hand with her son. The boy looks up at her, cheeks flushed from the wind and mouth split into a grin. His mother laughs, arranges the curling mass of her hair around her collar.

Dark hair. Like the strips of bark he used to peel from trees in his youth, strands long enough to coil. Like-

No. he is not thinking of her. Not right now. He can't. There are lines of pain running through him like tributaries, fissures in his nervous system so he has to fight the trembling mass of his body for every step.

A bench looms on the horizon like a mirage and he staggers towards it, sinking down so hard the wooden slats slice at his thighs. His spine bows, head almost between his knees and his breath coming fast between his teeth.

Shit.

He clutches at the underside of the seat and locks his elbows, sheer force of will allowing him to battle back the tremors that wrack his body.

He won't succumb to it. Not in the middle of the park, in the middle of the day. Not here, where anyone could see him.

Beside him, a woman who must have at least twenty years on his mother pats his back. He startles and almost shifts away, but some age-old thing sings in his bones, has him yearning for this stranger's love. Her fingers are twisted with wear and curling into the flesh between his shoulder blades, soft noises of comfort flooding him so he could weep.

He manages to lift his head and look, his mouth curving into a half-smile that tastes sour at the back of his throat.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Rick chokes a little, can't arrange all the letters that pool in his mouth, can't make them fit. His words crumble around the tombstone of his teeth, sentry guards to stop his heart from spilling out. "Yes. Just had some bad news."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She slips her hand down from his back, pats his knee on her way to taking his hand. "I'm Kathleen."

The woman doesn't say anything else, doesn't ask for his name, and somehow it's easier that way. Rick forces himself to meet her eyes, finds them a startling grey and soaked in a kindness that seeps through the cradle of his palm against hers and into the fissures of his wretched heart.

"I'm Richard. Rick."

She smiles at him, parentheses around her eyes and mouth that she seems to wear with pride. A testimony to the life she's lived, the laughter given so easily. "Well then, I'm Kate."

He hisses through his teeth, has to grit them to hold back a sob that threatens to choke him. "I'm alright, really."

"I don't doubt that you will be. In the meantime, would you like some coffee?" Kathleen – and no, he can't call her Kate – stands, tugs him up with her. He suddenly realises how tiny this woman is; he must have at least a foot on her, maybe more. She releases his hand, ushers him to move ahead down the path while she gathers her bag.

"You don't have to do this." Rick turns back to look at her, finds her shadowing him so close that their toes touch. "I can look after myself."

"Nonsense. You look like someone who needs a friend if ever I saw one, and I'm not in the business of ignoring other people's pain. Too many people live that way in this city and it's an ugly thing, Rick. I won't partake in it."

He takes a step back, almost shamed by Kathleen's words, the sharp bite of truth beneath her soft smile. "Okay. Coffee."

* * *

Kathleen pushes him through the door of a coffee shop he's somehow never noticed before. It's beautiful. He lets his companion push him into a leather armchair, distracts himself with the bookshelves while he waits for her to order.

He'll have to sneak the money into her purse later.

She comes back, passes him a mug of something he won't question. He clutches it to his chest, allows the heat to leach into the space behind his sternum and ease the knot of terror lodged there.

"Now, Rick, it does no good to let our pain fester. So talk."

And somehow, the wise and ancient face of this woman eases the muscles of his jaw so he can open his mouth, form words. Talk.

"I just found out that I have cancer. And my daughter, she's only nine, this will crush her. God, I'm-" he has to pause a moment, sip his coffee and try to stop trembling. "I'm only thirty three. What if this is it?"

"I'm so terribly sorry to hear that. Really. Your little girl, what's her name?"

"Alexis." Rick wipes a hand over his face, battles back the stupid tears. He has to get it together. If even just his little girl's name does this to him then meeting her eyes will kill him where he stands. "Her name's Alexis."

"Lovely. Well, kids are more resilient than so many people give them credit for. Alexis will be just fine, I'm sure. She'll have her mother."

"No. We're divorced. Her mother lives in Los Angeles. They don't really see each other. It's just me and my daughter." Rick drains the last of his mug, his stomach suddenly in revolt. "I should really get back to her. Thank you for the coffee and for listening."

"Oh, any time dear. I'm usually in here, so if you ever need anything you come find me, okay? Good luck with everything."

Rick manages a wan smile and forces his feet to move, take him home. He needs his baby girl.

* * *

His girls aren't home when he gets back to the loft, the cavernous emptiness of the place somehow more than he can bear. He heads straight for his study, toes off his shoes at the door and pours himself two fingers of whiskey. He swirls the glass a moment, lets himself have just the space of a single exhale to think, and then he knocks back the liquor.

It burns. Sharper than he remembers, blistering along his nerve endings. He sucks in a cooling breath, opens his laptop. He doesn't want to think about it right now.

Maybe ever.

And Derrick Storm is badass and high-octane and carries a gun. He would never, ever be defeated by a cluster of overzealous cells.

He doesn't stop at the sound of the door, doesn't look up to meet his mother's gaze on him from the threshold, finds he can't even go and check on his kid. She'll ask if they know what the lump is and why he smells funny and where he got a grass stain on his elbow.

He can't break her heart. He won't. There has to be a way for her not to know. Please, God, let Alexis not have to know.

"Richard."

His mother rests a cool hand at his neck, leans over his shoulder to read what he's written. She mutters his own words back to him and they slide, vicious, in between his bones, lay him bare right to the marrow. "What would you do, if you knew you only had one day or one week or one month to live?"

She sucks in a gasp through her teeth, takes a faltering step back and then manages to gather herself, goes to sink into an armchair across from him. "Richard, darling? Is that for Derrick?"

"No Mother. Not Derrick. Not really. I-" he has to close his eyes, can't face his mother older than he's ever seen her and so very small in the embrace of the easy chair, her hands fragile as leaves where they clutch the arm. "It's cancer."

She chokes out a sob; her fingers already coming up to press it back inside before he even has his eyes open. "Oh, Richard. Oh darling."

Martha stands, comes around the desk again to cradle his cheeks in her palms, kiss his forehead. "Mother, it's alright. The doctor said they've caught it early, that he's optimistic. He said he'll give me some time to digest it and we'll make a treatment plan next week."

"Darling. Oh, Richard." His mother is trembling now, all the strength he's so admired crumbling in her wrists, her knees. "I'm so sorry. Oh God, Alexis. What are you going to tell her?"

"Nothing. She can't know."

His mother sinks back against the desk, half-sitting on it. "How are you going to keep it from her?

"I'll tell her as little as I can get away with." He shrugs, rubs a hand over his face to hold himself together. "I don't know what I'll do when I have to go in for chemo. When my hair falls out. I can't-"

Rick chokes on the words, images of his baby girl swimming in his vision. How confused she'd be, how devastated. He won't do that to her. Not now. Not ever. "I can't do this now."

He hears the trembling cadence of his own voice, burning tendrils of shame crawling through his nerves, turning his axons to smoke.

"Okay. Alright. We don't have to think about it now." Rick follows his mother's gaze to the computer screen again, reads the words he wrote in desperation an hour or so before. "What wish would you fulfil? What book would you write? What person would you declare your love to?"

She shakes her head, curls just brushing the tops of her shoulders. "Oh Richard. Darling."

"I can't stop thinking about her, Mother."

"About Katie?"

He grits his teeth, manages a nod. Her name still burns every time he hears it, crumbles all his defences. "Yes. Sometimes I dream about what it would have been like if we'd stayed. If you hadn't forced me into boarding school."

"Richard-"

"I know." He catches his mother's hand in his own and squeezes, feels the fragile reed of her fingers a little too clearly. She's old. And yes, she'd kill him for saying it, and she hides it well, but she is. Guilt surges low in his stomach, thick and asphyxiating like tar.

He's not sure she can handle this. He's not sure he can either.

"I forgave you a long time ago. I just- can we not talk about this right now?"

"Of course. But Richard, you'll need someone to lean on through this. Maybe you could call?"

Rick drops his head to his hands, the weight of regret suddenly too much for him. "And say what? 'Hey Katie, I know it's been twenty years but I need you now so drop everything'?"

"_Richard_."

"_What_? What am I supposed to do?" His mother opens her mouth to argue and he sighs, cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "You know what, never mind. She's not here. I'll just get through it on my own."

"You're not on your own darling. I'm here. Don't forget that."

He wishes it could make it easier, but he's not seven anymore. He doesn't want to run to his mother for comfort. "Thank you. Would you-" he ducks his head, finds himself unable to meet her eyes.

"You want me to go." His mother steps back from the desk, hissing as her ankle gives way under her. She's trembling; he sees it now that she doesn't have a surface to lean on.

"Please. I just need a little while alone. Would you check on Alexis?"

Shit. His daughter. Her expectant face as it blooms with hope, tender hand sliding into his, all of it is going to break him.

"Of course. What should I tell her?"

"That I love her. And that I'll be fine."

He watches his mother disappear, hears the lilting cadence of her voice as she finds his daughter. He hopes she hugs Alexis, hopes she comforts his daughter the way he can't allow her to comfort _him_.

Shit. Yeah.

He needs Katie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to the lovely sparklemouse for editing this chapter, anything that makes actual sense is down to her.**

* * *

**Lifeboats**

* * *

"Richard, darling, there's something for you in the mail. Looks fancy."

He groans, clutches his pillow tighter over his face. His mother is making an entirely unacceptable amount of noise for-

Oh.

Huh. Ten in the morning. Maybe she's forgiven.

Wait. What is his mother doing in the loft?

Rick tosses the pillow to the other side of the bed, a barren land unoccupied for so very long now. Since a long time before his diagnosis. He just hasn't felt much like being in the company of women. Of course, there's his mother and his daughter, but he's not interested in meaningless relationships right now, doesn't want his little girl exposed to women that will flit through the loft like swallows, never even stopping to land.

The sheets pool in the middle of the mattress as he slides out from underneath them, raking his hands through his hair. He pulls jeans on over the underwear he slept in, shrugs his way into a sweater.

In the living room, his feet curl up against the hardwood, cold enough to knock his breath from his chest for a moment. Below him, the city writhes with sin underneath its frost casing, but his mother is pouring coffee at the kitchen island, her smile enough that the web of ice twining through his ribs unlaces, gathers at his feet.

"Morning, Mother. What are you doing here?" He makes his way to her, sinks onto one of the bar stools and clutches a mug to his chest.

His mother watches him cradling his drink like a precious thing for a moment, her eyes hard even as her mouth eases into a soft smile. "Your kid called me."

"Alexis _called_ you?" Rick's hands fly out to prop him up against the counter, his whole frame coming dangerously close to tipping forward.

It's not fair of her to do this to him. He _just _woke up and he doesn't feel good and he has fucking _cancer_, for God's sake. He just needs her to cut him some slack, just for a while so he can get his bearings. He's still trying to work out how to equate his life as a father and a writer with the constant and unsettling hum of his mutinous cells.

"Yes. She was supposed to be going to her friend's place today but she didn't want to wake you. So I took her, and then I came back here. What's going on, darling?"

"Mother. I'm tired. I'm tired all the time. I'm doing my best." His voice breaks and he drops his head, hands coming up to hide his face from her. He's trembling, and he knows it's pathetic but there's nothing he can do.

His whole body is insubordinate.

"Richard, it's alright to need help. No one's going to think less of you if you ask for it." His mother rounds the counter, her palm fluid over his spine as if she can't settle on the spot that will heal him most.

He drops his hands, picks up his coffee again. He probably shouldn't even be drinking it but he is exhausted _all the time_, a bone-deep ache that sings out for sleep every time he shifts. "Who's going to help me?"

"Oh Richard, sweetheart. I'll help you."

He shrugs, drums the fingertips of one hand against the counter, the staccato rhythm a tangible discomfort he can focus on, center all his distress around. "You're busy. The show's about to open. You can't sacrifice that."

His mother clutches at his shoulders, comes around to face him. "Don't you dare even _think_ that. Nothing is more important to me than you. Especially not a _show_." Her voice is rich with indignation, hysteria rising with the tide of her despair.

"What about your husband?" Martha sucks in a breath through her teeth, her head turning so Rick only has her profile to contend with. "Mother?"

"He's gone."

"He's _gone_? When?" Rick reaches out for her hand, catches her fingers in his own. His mother shrugs, turns to face him with so much pain laced in the lines of her face that Rick stands, envelops her in his arms.

"He took off two weeks ago. With my life savings." She manages a wan smile, fights her way out of his grip to sink onto a stool. "No warning, nothing. Just gone."

"Two weeks? Why didn't you tell me?"

She twists in the seat to face him, knees pressed together and cresting up from the hemline of her pencil skirt. Now that he looks, now that he can see past his own misery, his mother is heavy with stress, her bones brittle and pressing up through her skin as if they could escape at the slightest brush of too-forceful fingers.

"You got your diagnosis three days before he left. You were a wreck and I didn't want to put that on you." She knots her fingers together at the knuckle and drops the tangled mass of bone to her lap, her whole frame curling in as if in self-defence.

"He took your life savings? Where have you been staying?"

"With a friend. But that can't last forever. I don't know what I'm going to do." Her head bows, the kiss of grief fleeting across her temples and settling in the dip of her mouth.

Rick rests a palm at her knee, tries to weave comfort into the lattice of her muscles with the sweep of his thumb over the apex of her flesh. "You'll stay here."

"Oh no, I couldn't ask that of you, darling." His mother's head snaps up so she can meet his eyes, her own like the inside of a January midnight, storms roiling there.

"You're not asking. Mother, you have nowhere to go. And I need help." He chokes on that, his mother's hands already coming up to cradle his face even as his words trip over the crag of his teeth.

"Okay. If you're sure. Not forever, darling. Just until we're both back on our feet."

"Yeah. This will be good for Alexis, Mother. And for me." Rick stands, can't face her after the spill of his heart all over the tile.

He's halfway to the pantry before his stupid, still-sleeping brain catches up with itself, has him rocking back on his heels and then turning to face his mother. "What were you saying about the mail?"

"Oh, yes, this came for you." She pushes an envelope across the counter towards him, gold embossed and thick with starch. "An invitation I think, darling?"

Rick cards both hands through his hair, too long and curling onto his forehead. His mother shoots him a look and yes, okay, he knows he should cut it. He just-

He's not ready to say goodbye yet.

"No."

"Richard. Come on." His mother sits up straight again, strength rushing through her like she's yanked open a floodgate and unleashed the power to scold him. "You need to get out of the apartment."

"I don't want to get out of the apartment." It's a battle, but he doesn't stamp his foot, reigns in the jut of his lower lip.

His mother gets up and circles the counter, the envelope somehow in her grasp by the time she makes it to him so she can press it to his chest, both her palms flat against him. "I know you don't, but this isn't healthy, this caging yourself away."

"_I'm not healthy_, Mother. In case you haven't noticed."

"Oh darling, I know, but you don't have to wallow. Just open it." She circles his wrist; slender fingers bringing his hand up to have him hold the damn card himself.

"Fine." He tears, some primal satisfaction rushing through him at the jagged edge of the paper. The actual card is even more intimidating, pressed flowers slipping out to gather at his feet as he opens it. "Oh. _Really_?"

"What is it?"

"Carter Wallace."

His mother laughs at that, mirth slipping back under skin and limning her. "Who?"

"Guy in my eighth grade class. He's getting married next weekend." Rick shrugs, scans the invitation again.

"Why does he want you there?" His mother takes the card from him, runs her thumb over the embellishment as she reads.

"I don't know Mother, maybe he saw me on a book jacket."

She glances up at him, sighs softly. It's an argument they've had again and again. She wants him to trust, and he can't see past people's desperate hunger for a slice of his fame and his wealth.

"Please, Richard. Please go to the wedding."

"Okay. Okay, fine. I'll go."

His mother steps back in startled delight, her face already cracking into a grin. But he's not doing it to please her.

The only reason, the _only_ reason-

Carter Wallace is not the only person he remembers from his eighth grade class.

* * *

"_Shit_."

Rick grits his teeth, his stupid, too fat fingers crushing together around the button at his throat. He yanks at the collar again, the material warping under his attack, rolling hills carved by the angry press of his fingertips.

His mother appears around the door, Alexis half tucked against her side. His little girl strains towards him, the sharp wings of her shoulder blades shifting underneath her shirt as she turns to face her grandmother. "Gram, let _go_."

"Alexis-" Martha clutches at her granddaughter, palms coming up around the girl's shoulders. Rick reaches a hand out for his baby, shoots his mother a look over the top of Alexis' head as she comes in to him.

"Daddy?"

He cradles the back of his girl's head, flicks his thumb against her earlobe to bring that cracking smile to her serious little face. "Yeah baby?"

"What's wrong?" Alexis fists her hands in the back of his shirt and he stiffens, shifts a little.

His mother slides her palms along the outside of Alexis' arms and draws the girl into herself, eases her back from her father. "Daddy's just trying to get ready, darling."

"I can help. Can I pick out a tie?"

Rick manages a laugh for her and tugs uselessly at his collar again. "I don't think I'm going to wear one, pumpkin. I can't fasten my button."

"Oh. Because of your super lump?" Alexis shrugs her way out of her grandmother's grip and stretches onto tiptoe to peer at him.

He holds his collar out of the way, lets her look. She presses two fingers to the swell of disease at his neck, pats him as if he's done good.

Oh, if only.

"_Super lump_?" His mother's mouth stitches into a seam, her blazer sharp and too angular over her frame.

Rick grins, cards a hand through his little girl's hair as she beams back up at him. "The lump is where my super powers are growing, right baby?"

"Yeah. You're going to be Writer Man." Alexis plants a hand at her hip, her elbow sharp as her other arm surges upwards, her fingers curled into a fist.

"Writer Man, I like it." Rick grins, taps his knuckles against his daughter's in salute. His mother sighs, shaking her head at them both as she starts to retreat. "Mother, wait. Do you think I can just _not _wear a tie?"

"No darling. You're going to the actual ceremony, you can't be unbuttoned. Look, I think I have some kind of fastener upstairs. I'll help you."

She goes, his daughter flopping onto the bed and drawing up his attention before he can even begin to argue. "Why can't I go?"

"There won't be anyone else there that you know, sweetheart. You'd be bored and lonely."

Alexis frowns at that and rolls over to prop her chin against her fists, her knees bending so her feet come up over her head, the sheets like a rippling lake of ashen grey silk around her. "Won't _you_ be bored and lonely, Daddy?"

"I won't stay long. I'll just say hello to Carter, maybe chat to some other people from our old class if they're there."

"Richard." His mother sweeps back in, turns him to face her and busies herself at his collar, somehow managing to fasten it. Alexis passes his tie to her grandmother and she loops it around his neck, smoothes her palm down the placket of the shirt once she's done. "There. You look lovely, darling."

He turns to face the mirror and rakes his hands through his hair again, deep pressure at his scalp. His daughter catches his eye in the reflection and he winks at her, pulls a face that has her dissolving into laughter, face buried in his sheets.

"Goodbye, ladies. I'll text you when I leave, Mother." He kisses her cheek, scoops his daughter up off the bed and clutches her to his chest, scattering kisses across her cheeks. "Love you both."

He drops Alexis back onto the mattress, his palm following her movement so she doesn't bounce too violently, and then he goes, blowing kisses at them both.

* * *

The hotel is further away than Rick thought; he's wrenched from a shadowy half-sleep by the jerking glance of his head against the car window and then the door opening, his driver standing to attention. He slides out of the car, tries not to groan at the clattering protest of his muscles.

He tips the driver, straightens his tie and shrugs his shoulders inside his jacket, arranges himself in fortification. The hotel is nestled between two much smaller buildings so that it seems to loom over him, hold him captive in its shadow.

The door is already open, an usher hands him a program and directs him towards the vestibule and then he's swallowing hard, doing his best to look like he belongs here with the magnificent stain glass window at his back.

A couple brushes past him, overflowing with joy so he has to take a step back, knocking his elbow into a candelabra as he goes. He turns to steady the thing, finds himself drawn in by the flower arrangement beneath. He is just so not ready to go inside and sit alone in a pew, watching everyone else hum with excitement and love.

He doesn't exactly have fond memories of weddings at the best of times and now he's alone and aching with it, his shirt collar choking him and his tie too somber. He closes his eyes against it, a backwash of emotion that has him burning to flee, turn around and get back in the car and go home to his mother and his baby girl.

God damn it, _no_. He's better than this. Rick shakes his head, moves as if to enter the ballroom, and then someone calls his name.

Not his first name. His last name.

His head snaps up to find whoever here knows him, but there's no-

"Castle? What are you _doing_ here?"

She gapes at him, this gorgeous, sensuous woman who seems to know him, coming down the steps like some sort of ethereal being and she's-

Oh. Wow. She's smiling at him, her face breaking open with a light that washes over her whole body, slips over the fluid line of her like gossamer. And he sees now. He knows.

It's Katie.

And shit. _Shit_. She's so beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lifeboats**

* * *

Richard Freaking Castle.

Who knew?

He's gaping at her, his jaw hanging loose the way it used to when she suggested an adventure. One time when it snowed she dragged a tire from her dad's old truck out of the garage, nudged it towards him and grinned. It took him a solid five minutes to get his eyes back into his head.

"Rick? What are you doing here?" She says again, can't seem to get past the stumbling block of his presence, how those same startling eyes still turn her guts to water.

His breath catches in his throat and he swallows hard, finally smiles at her. "You forgetting I grew up with Carson too?"

Oh, God. His eyes. They crease at the corners when he grins at her like rivulets of mirth to draw her in. "I didn't know you were still in touch with him."

"I'm not, really." He shrugs, shifts from foot to foot like he doesn't know how to arrange his bones in front of her. "Looks like he invited everyone he's ever known though, huh?"

She reaches out to smooth a thumb over the back of his hand, can't quite seem to help herself. She hasn't held his hand for-

Jesus. Twenty years.

"Katie-" he watches the circling tenderness of her thumb, eyes awash with longing, and she takes her hand back, folds it uncomfortably into the crease of her elbow.

"It's just Kate now. And you're not Ricky Rogers anymore, are you."

"You called me Castle." He smirks at her, reaches for her hand so very carefully, centuries passing in the space between her heartbeats.

She lets him have it, the kiss of their palms and the curl of his fingers around hers. "I've seen you on TV. Page Three. Oh Rick, you _made it_."

"You read the books, Katie Beckett?"

"Kate. And no." _Yes. _

It's too much for her right now. She loves his books, clung to them after her mother's death like a lifeboat. She couldn't have him, couldn't quite ever manage to just call, and so she swaddled herself in his words. And when she closed her eyes, they were still ten years old and lying on their backs in her yard, a patch of naked earth under her fingers where she'd brushed the leaves aside.

There's a dusting of shadow across his eyes, thrumming tension in his jaw that he can't quite keep from her. "Oh. Okay. Not to everyone's taste I guess. And that Kate thing's gonna take some getting used to."

"I'm a detective now, Rick. I can't exactly still be Katie."

"A detective? Detective Kate Beckett. Wow. How did we get to be thirty three years old?" He runs a hand over his face, all sharp angles and lines of wear. It's so odd. She knows what he looks like, has seen him grinning at her from a dozen book jackets, and still it takes her breath away.

Kate squeezes his hand, lets the nudging flow of the people behind them take her into the ballroom itself. "It's crazy. Oh, _Rick_. You have a daughter, right?"

"Yeah, Alexis. She's nine."

"_Nine_. Wow. How did that happen?"

"Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much-" she smacks at his arm, shoves him towards the bench seat. It's so-

Yeah, easy. Doing this, going right back to where they used to be. Him teasing, her pretending to be the serious one even as she laughs at him.

He tugs on her hand so she falls down to sit next to him, the stretch of her thigh aligning with his. He turns to her, that private smile that still looks the same, the one he used to shoot her in class when she answered a question right.

Proud. He always used to say that, always introduced her to everyone as his best friend. And now he's smoothing an escaped curl back from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, and her guts twist hard, all of her humming with awareness.

God, she's missed him.

* * *

Rick thinks maybe he should be ashamed that it takes her elbow at his ribs for him to realise that the ceremony is over. He's just been so caught up in her, the beautiful warmth of her body next to his and the soft hum of her pleasure at the service.

Kate.

He can't reconcile the knowledge of her presence with twenty years of longing, can't find a way to move past the catch in his lungs every time he glances at her. They stand to see the bride and groom walk down the aisle and Rick catches her fingers in his, laces them together and moves closer to keep the clasp of their hands safe between their bodies.

She hums, only a snatch of her profile visible as she watches the newly married couple make their way out of the ballroom, and then she's turning back to face him.

So much joy there, fluid over her cheeks and dripping from the ends of her hair. He wants to kiss her. Always did.

He remembers that one morning she knocked on his door to walk to school with him and his heart clattered against his ribcage so hard she must have heard it, his hand clammy when she took it to tug him over the threshold. And he pressed his stupid, twelve year old mouth to her cheek in supplication.

Kate tilts her head to watch him, that soft and easy smile flirting at the corners of her mouth. He grins back and tugs on the join of their hands just to feel her resist, keep her with him. "Are you going straight to the reception?"

"It's in the next room." She laughs, shaking her head at him even as she steps out of the row of seats, turns to help an elderly gentleman battle his way through their slice of the crowd. She's still got his hand in hers so he has to stretch, take a staggering step towards her before he can round the bench seat and follow her into the aisle.

"Don't want to lose each other." He squeezes, and she turns a look back over her shoulder to him. _Oh_. Yeah.

Okay, there's some subtext there.

"No." Kate finds a smile for him and then she's striding ahead, tugging him along in her rip current. He stumbles, has to balance himself with a hand at her waist as they make it to the door. He wants to bring her back against him and traverse her neck, a holy pilgrimage to the sacred place behind her ear.

Instead, he holds the door for her to go past him and he follows her to find the seating chart.

* * *

Kate pulls her own chair out before Castle can do it for her and tries not to smirk at him thrumming with want next to her. They're at the singles table, of course. Only, it doesn't seem quite so bad with him here. Not that they're-

No. She can't think about that. But here he is and so is she and now neither of them has to do this alone.

"So, chicken, fish or vegetarian?" Castle grins. He's moved his chair to be near to her and it makes him seem cast adrift from his place setting, floating in the in-between.

Kate finds herself smiling back, can't seem to tone it down even a little. Not now. Not after twenty years without him.

"Seriously? You're not going to ask about my life?"

He shrugs at that, arranges his napkin over his thighs to avoid looking at her. "Not if you don't want me to."

She sucks in a breath through her teeth at that, parts her mouth for words that she doesn't have. He'd always been the one to talk them out of trouble, always knew the right thing to say. She'd been the one throwing the punches.

"You can ask. But I'm not promising to tell you everything." She settles back in her chair, watches him stuttering over which question to ask first.

And then he looks up at her and all of it falls away and it's him, those eyes again and the softly turned corners of his mouth and his hand coming up to find hers. Their palms kiss and he circles his thumb over her knuckles, her whole body flaring with heat at his touch.

"You look good."

The gravel of his voice has her clenching her jaw and shifting in her seat, unwittingly putting her body close enough that the warmth of him permeates her clothes and skin, settles bone-deep.

She swallows hard, dips her head so he doesn't see the flare of heat at her cheeks. "You look good too."

"You're not looking at me." He chuckles, a thing all in his throat that makes her breath catch. And then his hand is cradling her cheek and lifting her head to meet his eyes, so much terrifying expectation in them.

He drops his hand to the table, his finger tracing the edge of her place card. "So. Detective, huh?"

"Yeah. Yes. Homicide."

"Homicide?" He startles at that, his whole body twisting in his seat to face her, their knees crashing together. "Wow. How did that happen?"

She grits her teeth, has to take a moment to forget the image of her mother's broken body, forget that alley, forget the nights she spent curled in bed needing him still even after six years.

"My mother. She, uh-"

"Oh shit. Oh, Katie. I'm so sorry. I forgot for a moment." He drops both hands to his lap like his only other option is reaching for her and she burns with the need for it, his embrace.

"You _know_?"

"I saw it on the news. I wanted to call." He sits back in his chair and the sudden distance between their bodies opens like a chasm, sucks her right in so she could fall against him.

Instead, she shrugs, feels her bones too stark under her skin. "Yeah, well. I wanted to catch the guys who did it."

"And did you? Catch them."

"No, I- no." Kate knots her fingers at the knuckles and rests her hands at her knee, studiously not looking at him.

"Oh."

"Yeah." She swallows, finds she can meet his eyes again. He doesn't say he's sorry and she's glad, can't take another platitude after thirteen years of strained smiles.

"But you're still a detective, right?"

"Yeah, I-" she flushes, can't quite believe how easily she can talk about it with him. Already her body is flooding with passion, that same hum of delicious anticipation as when she has a suspect cornered, a confession so rich and close her bones sing with it. "I love it."

"Wow. Any interesting cases recently?"

"Actually, yeah." She grins at the memory, laughs out loud as Castle drags his chair closer and props his chin on his hands, so much of that little-boy delight in his eyes, the set of his mouth. "I have two other guys on my team, and to cut a long story short, I ended up cuffed to one of them."

"_Handcuffed_?" He splutters, earns himself a disapproving look from an older couple at the next table.

"Yeah. And then there was a tiger."

"A _tiger_." He clutches at her hand, his grip strong and sure like they've spent the last twenty years holding hands, like it's normal. He's staring at her mouth and for one tremulous moment she thinks he's going to kiss her.

And then he lets her go, leans back in his seat again. The lines of his body are still open, still wanting, but he's trembling with restraint.

"A tiger. We lived, obviously, but it was close."

She pours a glass of water for each of them, takes a slow sip of hers and hopes the cool slide of the liquid will do something to battle back the ache of want that sits low in her stomach. He watches her, and then he takes her hand with a sort of desperate determination, clutches it close to his chest.

"I'm glad you lived."

* * *

She dances with him.

She's not even drunk yet, and here she is against him, the lush and sensual line of her body coming in close and then moving away over and over, leaving him breathless.

And sure, yeah, she's buzzed. So is he. So is everyone here. But she's steady on those heels (_shit, those insanely erotic heels_) and she's coherent and she keeps _smiling_ at him like she knows exactly what she's doing. Like it's funny that he wants her so badly he could cry.

He manages not to touch her until the music changes and then he hooks a hand at the curve of her waist and pulls her in, aligns her with him knees to chest. Their hips clash as she settles her head against his shoulder and he brushes her hair back behind her ear, rests his mouth at her cheekbone.

"You look so beautiful."

Her eyes slam shut at that, the soft brush of charcoal lashes over her cheeks making him burn to kiss her there. "Are you seriously slow dancing with me right now? We just met."

Castle can't help but laugh at that and she shifts back from him to meet his eyes, smiling too. He strokes his thumb over her ribs, his other hand curling around her shoulder. "We just found each other again."

She hums her agreement, her body swaying in time with his. "I guess that's true. But there's so much you don't know, Castle."

"So tell me."

She stiffens a little in his arms, a falter in her step that he tries to ignore. He's not letting her run. He drops his hand at her shoulder, laces their fingers together again to keep her close. "I don't even know where to start. What do you want to know?"

"Why do you call me Castle?"

She smirks at that, raises an eyebrow at him. Yeah, Kate, he's noticed. It's sort of cute, actually. No one's ever called him that before. "It's a cop thing, I guess? I call all my colleagues by their last names."

"But I'm not your colleague."

"No." She steps in closer, her thighs brushing his through his dress pants, making him clutch harder at her waist. "You're not."

"I like it."

"Good." She grins at him, a glimpse of her tongue behind her teeth that chokes him, has him falling into her.

She's laughing even as she catches him and then the music changes again, the tempo picking up. He stifles a groan and waits to see if she moves away but she's sliding her palms up his chest now and cradling the back of his neck, her hips swinging in time.

He sets both hands at her waist, low enough that if he just stretched his fingers a little more he could-

Yeah. He wants her. He wants her badly enough that he forgets the cancer, forgets the twenty year gap he has to breach and he moves with her.

* * *

He stands at her back to watch the bride and groom leave, wants so badly to band an arm around her waist. She turns to face him as he starts to move and he grunts, half surprise and half unruly disappointment.

"I think I'm gonna go home now. I was only really here for Carter anyway."

"Oh, yeah. Me too. Walk you out?" He tries to look open, easy, like her answer doesn't matter to him, and he must succeed because she grins and hooks her arm through his, leads him to the door.

Castle pulls out his phone, shudders as the night air hits his skin. Only his hands and face, really, but Kate's dress doesn't cover much. She must be freezing.

He cradles his phone between his cheek and shoulder, slides out of his coat and slips it over her shoulders before she can protest. She's staring at him as he wraps things up with the car service and leans back against the building, the brick façade sharp through his jacket, his button down.

"I called my car service. You want to share?"

She startles at that, shrugs her shoulders inside his coat like it won't sit right. Like the envelope of his body heat makes her uncomfortable. "I think I'll just get a cab. But thanks."

The light from inside casts a halo around her, paints shadow under her cheekbones when she looks up at him. That soft smile is still there even as her eyes fill with regret and she dips her chin again. He wants so badly to cradle her cheek in his palm, bring her up to look at him and kiss her until the stoic line of her frame turns liquid against him.

Instead, he turns half-away. "I had a great time tonight. It was really good to see you."

"Yeah." Kate takes a step back from him and folds her arms over her stomach, her shoulders set in fortification. "Yeah, me too."

She turns to go and Castle's breath catches in his throat, his body surging towards her before he even knows what he's doing. He snags her wrist and turns her back around to face him, his mouth already over hers to consume her gasp.

Her kiss is frantic and biting, her nails forging lines of sweet, sharp pressure over his scalp, and then she's gone from him.

"Katie-"

She brings a trembling hand up to swipe at the kiss-smudged corners of her mouth; her eyes closed against him like that can erase the clatter of his stupid heart against his ribs.

"Don't. Okay? I can't do this."

"I'm sorry." Castle rocks forward onto his toes, his whole body straining for her even as she takes another step away. "Kate, I'm sorry. I just want you. So badly."

"_No_, damn it." She folds her arms again, sways like she's suddenly unsteady on those heels. And he knows, he _knows_ she can balance just fine in them, remembers the teasing press and cease of her body against his over and over as they danced. So it must be-

It must be _him_. She's just as affected as he is.

"Please, Kate. I missed you every day. I hated my mother for making me leave you."

She shakes her head at that and a bitter laugh slides up from some dark place inside, somewhere she's been nursing for years without him. "You could have called. You said you'd write me and you didn't. It's not impossible to stay in touch if you really want to."

She tugs his coat off and hands it to him, her body immediately erupting in gooseflesh. He wants to keep her warm, damn it. He wants-

So much.

"I know. I know. I'm sorry." He has nothing else, no excuses, nothing. He can't even remember now why he didn't just write to her, why he didn't call.

He should have. God, he should have.

"Castle, you left me. And I can't trust you won't do it again. I have to go home."


	5. Chapter 5

**Lifeboats**

* * *

Kate glances up from her computer screen and sees both her boys gaping at something behind her. There's a clatter as Ryan drops a hole punch off the edge of his desk and Beckett rolls her eyes, turns her chair to see what all the commotion is about.

And of course, it's him. It just _would_ be him, striding from the elevator like he belongs here. She can't deal with this right now. Maybe ever.

He grins when he sees her, his hand coming up to flutter his fingers at her. As if the boys weren't excited enough, and now the famous novelist is waving at her.

"Kate, hi."

Beckett stands to intercept him, fisting her hand in his jacket sleeve and dragging him towards the break room. She shoves him into a chair and towers over him, grateful she decided to wear the extra high heels this morning.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

The easy smile slips from his face at that. Good, so at least he can see this isn't a joke to her. This is where she works, this is the job she's fought for years to be respected in. She does not need a multimillionaire playboy dropping in for a visit, damn it.

"I wanted to apologize. What I did, kissing you. . .I don't regret it, but it wasn't fair of me. I'm sorry."

Oh jeez. Okay, so he's not going to dance around it. She has to clench her fists to stop herself tracing the seam of her mouth where she can still almost feel him.

"You couldn't have just called and told me you're sorry?"

"I didn't get your number."

He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, like he's too weary to even bother carrying through the movement. Now she looks, she sees the swathes of shadow under his eyes, his skin papery thin and fragile looking.

Eh. He's tired. They all are. He's a single parent, and God knows what he gets up to at night. It doesn't surprise her that he seems worn out.

"Yeah. How did you even get them to let you in?"

"I called a friend."

He drops his chin to rest against his sternum, his eyes darting back and forth and never quite meeting hers.

"What friend?"

"Uhm. . .Bob. Bob Weldon."

Beckett takes a step back to lean against the counter, running a hand through her hair. "As in Robert Weldon? The mayor of New York?"

"He's a friend."

"Of course he is."

She grits her teeth, feels the tight string of muscle in her jaw trembling. He must see it, because he's swallowing hard and looking like he wants to get up. Bad idea, Rick. If he tries to touch her right now she is one hundred percent going to kill him.

"Look, Kate, I didn't mean to upset you. I just really wanted to see you."

"So you thought you'd embarrass me in front of my boss? What the hell, Castle?"

He does stand, then, coming to settle next to her at the counter. There's space between them, but he could lean in if he wanted. Brush his arm against hers, have their hips clash. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you. Look, I've been sort of stuck, lately. I don't know if you've heard, but I killed off Derrick Storm."

Has she _heard_? She had to buy a new copy of the damn book because the old one was crisp with salt water, the pages like sine waves. It tore her heart out. And that's ridiculous, because it's just a stupid character in a book, and it was time, but still. It still hurt.

"Yeah. I heard."

"I haven't been able to write anything since. And then I met you."

Whoa. Okay. What exactly does that mean? "You met me."

"Yeah. And now there's this whole new character in my head and she's amazing, Kate. Smart and fierce and strong and so very sexy."

"Okay. What does that have to do with me?"

Castle turns to face her and cups her elbow in his palm, like he feels he has to tether her. She's not going anywhere now. She wants to hear what he has to say.

"You inspired me. And I was wondering if I could maybe hang around with you for a while. Just for research, you know?"

"Research. Right."

Beckett brings her free hand up to circle his wrist, gives herself just a moment to feel the hum of his pulse against her fingertips before she guides him away from her elbow.

"Look, I know what this looks like. But it would be platonic, okay? Just a book thing."

"Castle-"

"Just think about it. Please? Look, why don't you come over for dinner tonight and we can discuss it."

"Dinner."

"Just as friends. My daughter will be there too. Please, Kate."

And there's something in the wide and supplicating blue of his eyes that reminds her of how he looked twenty years ago, always asking her to help him get out of some scrape. And there's nothing she can do. He's got her.

"Okay. Fine. See you tonight."

* * *

He asks his mother.

And even as he does he feels like such an idiot. Honestly, it is just so ridiculous that he needs his mother's advice about what to wear and whether he should cook or order in and if they should eat at the table or the kitchen island.

But this is Kate Beckett. And she's so different now, but somehow still the same girl she was. Underneath her sharp exterior and the hard edges of her professionalism, he can see the burn of her passionate need for the truth.

It always was that way. They'd find an abandoned house or a lost coat and he'd weave a story about who owned it, why they no longer need it. But Kate would always want to solve the mystery, find out for certain. She dealt in fact and he in fiction and they made it work.

He really, really hopes they can do it again.

Alexis keeps asking him about their dinner guest, seems fascinated by the idea that Kate knew him when he was his daughter's age. Rick doesn't want to tell her too much.

Usually he shields his daughter from the women in his life, doesn't want her to form an attachment that can't last. But this is Kate, and it's not about getting her into his bed. He wants her in his life again, however she'll have him.

And he's sort of counting on his kid to bring Beckett around.

"Richard, darling, are you going to shave?"

He spins in his desk chair to face his mother, scratching at the stubble scattered across his jaw. She's pursing her lips at him, her own hair immaculate as always.

"No. I like it."

"You're going to have to say goodbye to it once you start radiotherapy. You know that."

Yeah. He knows. The doctor gave him a long list of possible side effects, including patchy growth or total loss of the hair at the site. Where they're going to fire radiation through him in the hope that it will kill off the rebellious cells in his neck.

"I know. All the more reason to enjoy it now, don't you think?"

"Oh darling."

His mother rounds the desk and cradles his face in her palms, dropping a kiss to his forehead. He feels like a child, and it stirs something in him. An irrational anger at her, at his stupid fucking disease, at Kate Beckett for appearing like a beacon of hope when clearly she's not going to be there for him to lean on.

"Don't. Just don't. Where's Alexis?"

"Reading on the couch. She seems very excited about your guest. Are you going to tell me who it is?"

Really, he'd rather not. His mother will want to stay and catch up with Kate and she'll ask awkward questions about Kate's mother and Kate will never ever come back to the loft ever again.

"No."

"I know it's someone important to you. Otherwise you'd never let Alexis be here. Just tell me."

Castle groans and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, tries to draw the strength to deal with her from somewhere.

"It's Kate Beckett."

"_Katie_?" His mother shrieks, clasping her hands and looking like she wants to jump up and down.

"Yes, Katie. Actually, she'll be here soon. You should go."

She laughs at that, shaking her head as she moves to sit in the armchair opposite him. "It's been twenty years, Richard. I'd like to see how she's changed."

"Mother, it took enough convincing to get her to even agree to dinner. I don't want you scaring her off, please."

If she even shows up. He has doubts.

"Oh Richard, darling. I'm not going to scare the poor girl. But fine, I'll go. Are you sure you want Alexis here?"

"Yeah. Kate's just a friend. I'm hoping she'll be around quite often. Alexis should get to know her."

And yes, okay, he hears himself. But he's not trying to take risks with his daughter's heart. He's kind of hoping that Kate will fall for Alexis as hard as Alexis undoubtedly will for her, and then she'll have to keep showing up.

Just to see his kid, and then he can work his way back into her heart.

"Do you plan to tell Beckett?"

Oh God. He really doesn't know, and that's the crux of the issue. That's why he asked his mother, if he's honest.

"I don't know. Do you think I should?"

His mother sits forward in the chair, her legs folded at the knee. She always looks so put together and most of the time it helps to have that slice of calm, to see her keep everything the same. Just, sometimes he'd like to see her fall apart.

So he didn't feel like such an idiot when _he_ does.

"If you don't, and then she finds out, would she forgive you?"

"I don't know. But if I tell her now she might use it as an excuse not to stick around. And I really want her to."

His mother smirks at that and leans back again, gives him a long look. "Darling, you don't have to tell me that. You've been in love with that girl for as long as I can remember."

Huh.

He always thought that he'd grown out of it, that he just missed her the way everyone misses their old friends. But seeing her again-

She is a more beautiful, more intelligent, more fascinating version of herself. And his mother is right. He loves her. Already. Still.

What is he going to do?

* * *

She's nervous.

And she can't even tell herself that it's stupid, because this is Richard Castle and even the lobby of his building is intimidating. Even the damn elevator.

He's got a nine year old daughter, whom Kate is going to have to try to win over. While not getting her hopes up. She can't be a mother figure in this girl's life, can't allow herself to be anything other than perhaps a friend.

What is she doing? She has no time for this guy, really.

He wants to shadow her at the precinct, and she can't allow that. There's no way for that to work without everyone thinking they're sleeping together.

Which, by the way, they are really really not. She's not interested.

Yes, the kiss they shared was amazing and she couldn't stop thinking about it the rest of the night and then when it got too much and she had to slide into the bathtub with a book she imagined his fingers on her instead.

But she can't handle a relationship right now.

His door looms in front of her and Kate swallows hard, lifts her hand to knock. It's just dinner and a professional discussion. It's fine. She can do this.

The door opens suspiciously quickly, like he's been hovering nearby just waiting for her. She supposes he probably has. He ushers her inside and takes her coat, leaving her a moment to take the place in.

It's beautiful, which she expected, but in a comforting way. It feels homely and welcoming. Not at all how she'd pictured it. But then, he shares the space with his daughter and apparently his mother now too. It's not really a bachelor pad.

He comes back and starts to reach for her hand before seeming to think better of it and folding his arms across his chest instead.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure, yeah. Whatever you're having is fine."

He pours wine for them both and directs her towards the couch, an easy smile in place of the terror he answered the door with. Kate folds her legs underneath herself so her knees can act as a barricade against his advances, but he doesn't seem intent on pushing her. Not tonight, anyway.

Beckett opens her mouth to break the silence before it can grow uncomfortable but she doesn't even get a chance to speak before his daughter appears.

A beautiful, tall little girl with red hair down to her waist and a shy smile. Alexis settles in her father's lap and offers a hand for Kate to shake, her eyes startlingly similar to Castle's.

"Hi. I'm Alexis."

"Nice to meet you, Alexis. I'm Kate."

The girl squirms in her father's arms and half turns to look at him, casting a glance at Beckett before meeting his eyes again. She seems very serious for a nine year old, and Kate can't help but wonder if she's always like this or if the detective's own presence has something to do with it.

"Daddy, the girl in the picture?"

Castle glances up, seeming startled, and Kate frowns at him. What picture?

"Yeah, baby. That's her."

The girl scrambles to get down and disappears for a moment, coming back with a photo frame clutched in both hands. She thrusts it at Kate and then climbs onto the couch again, hiding behind her father's shoulder this time.

Beckett studies the photo, feels the smile slipping across her face. "I remember this. My dad took it, right?"

"Yeah, I think so. You know, you still owe me _at least_ one plate of fries."

Kate rolls her eyes at him, sees Alexis stifle a giggle against his shirt. They'd been at a diner after a day at the park with Kate's dad, and she still remembers Rick's shrieks as she'd reached across to take his fries once she'd finished her own.

"Whatever. Maybe if you'd been a little faster, you wouldn't have lost them."

"You wound me." He presses a hand to his heart, his eyes screwed shut, and his daughter laughs again.

"You two are funny. Are you best friends?"

Castle reaches around to grab his daughter, hauls her around to sit on his lap again. He blows a raspberry at her neck that has her thrashing with laughter and then he cradles her head as she calms down again, peppering kisses to her cheeks.

He's a wonderful father. She's seen him in action for all of five minutes and already she can see that Alexis totally adores him. And that does something to ease the panic in her chest.

She's always seen him presented as this playboy millionaire, swanning around with whichever woman he's landed that particular week. But now she sees that it's all a front, probably carefully crafted by his publicist. That this is the real him, this loving man who seems so comfortable playing dad in front of her.

"We used to be, yeah. And maybe we will be again someday."

He doesn't look at her when he says it and she reaches out to run her thumb over his knee, smile at him.

"Yeah. Maybe."

* * *

Alexis is falling asleep against him, her head pillowed at his shoulder.

And he really doesn't want to wake her, but Kate is getting up to leave and he absolutely can't just watch her go. He struggles to his feet and follows Beckett to the door, his arms already aching with the weight of his little girl.

Kate turns to face him at the door, offering him a smile before she ducks her head, her gorgeous eyes hidden beneath a sweep of charcoal lashes.

Before he can think better of it, he leans in and presses his mouth to her cheek, revels in the soft skin over her cheekbone. He hears her suck in a gasp but she doesn't pull away, just waits him out. And when he steps back from her, she smoothes a hand over his daughter's hair and smiles again, meeting his eyes this time.

"Thank you for dinner, I had a really good time."

"Thanks for coming. I did too."

She opens the door and she's halfway out before she seems to think better of it, turning back to face him again.

"Castle? I'll see you at the precinct tomorrow."

* * *

**Tumblr:** katiehoughton

**Twitter:** seilleanmor


	6. Chapter 6

**Lifeboats**

* * *

Rick feels like crap.

And not even in the good way, in the _last night was so much fun_ sort of way. Oh no, he should be so lucky.

Instead, his body lags as the slow and apologetic death of his cells takes with it everything he has to give. And the doctor (smarmy, patronising asshole) keeps telling him to rest, that trying to struggle through will only make it worse.

But he can't. He has his baby girl to take care of. And now also the precinct. Being with Kate is worth it, worth the thick and unmoving suction of sleep as soon as he gets home. Sometimes he doesn't even make it to bed, waking in terror on the couch to his daughter's face, a pale moon limned with the rose-gold of dawn.

He scrubs his hands over his cheek and into his eyes like that can help battle back the grit there. His skin is too dry, feels coarse under his fingertips. He can't afford more than a moment to dwell on it, because Beckett's watching him; he can feel the concern in her gaze even over here in the chair she arranged at the end of her desk for him.

She still doesn't know. And he has absolutely no intention of telling her. She'd kick him out, of the precinct and her life both.

And it's not even that he could blame her. She'd be right to spare herself from him, save herself from becoming mired in the sucking quicksand of his cancer.

"You okay, Castle? The paperwork a little too much for you?" She raises an eyebrow at him, smoothing two fingers down the page before she slides it back into the file. He's fascinated by her handwriting, the smooth glide of the ink (always black, never blue) and the careful way she marks out each letter.

She still holds the pen the same way she did when she was nine.

He sends her a glare, sitting back in his chair and steepling his fingers. Beckett's mouth stitches into a line even with amusement dancing at the corners, entrenched in fissured lines next to her eyes as well. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Why don't you go home, get some rest."

There's too much concern there, beneath the veneer of gentle teasing. It only reinforces his determination to be okay. He never wants to see Kate Beckett grieve for him. "No, no. I want to be here. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Alright, suit yourself." Kate shakes her head at him, turning back to the reams of paper in front of her. Really, it's ridiculous how many times she has to fill out the same damn information. And he's not allowed to help, either.

"You don't want me here, Beckett?"

She raises an eyebrow at him, a deadly arch if ever he's seen one, and he swallows hard. It hurts, but it's no longer a surprise. One on the long list of side effects he has tacked onto the bathroom mirror. And it's fine, he doesn't mind really.

Rather this than his voice change, all his hair fall out. However much radiotherapy might suck, and yes, it really does, it is endlessly better than chemo.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" She huffs, signing her name at the bottom of the last sheet of paper and sliding it inside the file. Sitting back in her chair, she regards him carefully.

He grins at her, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. "If you really want me gone, say the word. But I don't think you do."

"Well, apparently you need me to help you do your job now, huh?" She smirks at him, the touch of her tongue between her teeth entirely unfair.

Unless you want to share, keep your tongue to yourself, Kate.

"I wouldn't say I _need_ you." He huffs, folding his arms to forge a barrier between them. His self-control is unravelling, hand over hand at gossamer thread to try and keep it pieced together.

Because of course he needs her. That has never been a question. The single, unutterable fact around which his entire consciousness orbits.

"Oh really?"

"Okay." He grins, sliding his foot along the floor until his toes clash against hers. Even through both of their shoes it sends a jolt down his spine, the contact delicious in its intoxication. "Maybe I need you a little."

"Thought so." She smirks, the arc of her mouth softening as he cracks open on a yawn. "Castle, you're exhausted. Go home, be with your kid. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He remembers when he'd walk her home in the evenings and she'd say _night_ and he'd tell her _see you tomorrow_. More optimistic that way, he always felt. The promise of seeing her again. Until the day he didn't.

Even so, seeing that it has stuck with her infuses him with joy, such purity to it that he wants to kiss her, worship at the altar of her body.

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

* * *

Kate opens the door to the loft – and why, why did she let him give her a key? It'll only give him ideas about them, about this. . .partnership, that she cannot possibly hope to entertain. Only he said _for emergencies_, and the way he sounded on the phone-

He begged her to come. Didn't even try to hide the sweep of panic through his bloodstream, his words arrhythmic and fractured in her ear. And her stupid, hopeful heart had soared, delighted beyond reason at the fact that he called for her. That he needs her.

"Castle?" Beckett calls out, stepping through his living room and towards the office. "Castle, you here?"

He stands up from his desk when she appears in the doorway, striding towards her and crushing her in his grip. Kate sucks in a breath that seems to lag, too much time elapsing between the action and the much-needed flood of oxygen. The cove of his arms is soft and welcoming, the smell of him coming up to curl around her.

Too soon, he lets her go and takes a stumbling step back until he comes up against the edge of his desk. "Kate. You're here."

"You said you need me." Beckett shrugs, stepping over until the toes of her shoes are little more than a whisper away from his own.

He stares up at her, the endless summer of his eyes wide in panic. She sees now the line of tension in his jaw, where he grits his teeth so as not to tremble with it. "I always need you."

"What's going on, Castle?"

His hand scrubs down the cliff face of his jaw, strangely bare where he used to have that delicious sprinkling of stubble, and he reaches for her hand. She lets him have it, curl his fingers around hers so tight she has to bite at her lip.

"Alexis is missing." He grits out, eyes closed tight against it.

A part of her – a huge part – floods with terror, the too-sweet taste of it surging against the back of her throat. But right now, first and foremost, she has to be a cop. Not the woman who has always, always loved him.

"Talk me through it. What happened?"

Kate watches the work of his throat as he swallows, how it seems to pain him. It's seemed that way a lot, lately, she keeps meaning to ask him if he's got some kind of infection and could he please take it away from her precinct.

Not that it matters right now. Inconsequential.

"The car service was supposed to pick her up from school. But Patrick called and said she wasn't there." He says, and Beckett is startled by the sudden flooding of his eyes, the break and desperate dive to his jaw of a single tear.

She brushes it aside with her thumb, squeezing her fingers around his until hers crack wide, their knuckles clashing. "Have you called the cops?"

"I called you."

One side of his mouth lifts in a half-smile, a desperately painful thing, and suddenly she can't help herself. Kate moves in, wrapping her free arm around his neck and aligning their bodies. His nose nudges at the thud of her pulse, his hand clutching at the starch-thick cotton of her button down where it skims the curve of her spine.

"You tried her school?"

"Yeah. No one in the office is picking up." He grunts, letting her go like he needs the space to think. Kate raises a hand to her mouth, her fingers pressed there to keep back the tsunami of emotion. "I should. . .let her mom know."

"Yeah, okay. I'll call the precinct."

Castle snags her fingers again and draws her in close. "Will you sit with me while I call Meredith? I don't know how to break this sort of news. And I've seen you do it before."

"Okay. I'll stay." Kate passes him his phone where it lies like collateral damage on his desk and sits next to him; their legs flush from hip to knee. It shouldn't make her pulse jump, shouldn't make her skin sing with yearning, but it does.

It does, and the sooner she accepts it the better.

He scrolls through his contacts to find his ex-wife and relief bursts quiet and beautiful, her cheeks flushing with it. She's not on his speed dial, not a big enough part of his life for that. Castle shoots her a desperate look, his thumb hovering over the name, and she manages a fragile smile for him.

It rings once, twice, three times, and then there's a click as the call is put through. On speaker, so Kate hears the tinny falsehood of this woman as sure as Rick does.

"Richard, darling, what a surprise." Meredith trills, something saccharine about it that sets Beckett immediately on edge. Okay, fine-

So this woman sounds totally delighted to have Castle calling her. That's fine. Because he didn't want to, he had to set his hand in a vice grip at Kate's knee to even thumb her contact. He opens his mouth to break the news, a tide of grief spilling soundlessly past his lips, and Kate drops her hand to cover his.

Before he can even begin to get the awful words out, Meredith continues. "Alexis, sweetheart, I have Daddy on the phone."

There's a muffled exchange, in the space of which Castle's whole world comes crashing at their feet and then spools violently back together, all of it playing over his face. And then the sweetest, most blessed sound Kate has ever heard. "Daddy? Hi."

"Alexis, oh thank God. You're okay." He grits out, his voice trembling with it. A little lower than normal, it has been all day and the roll of it in her gut is entirely distracting.

There's a giggle on the other end of the line and Kate's grin spreads, slow but sure. She's really okay.

"Yeah Daddy. I'm fine. Mommy and I are having an adventure."

Castle glances at Kate, his face slack with relief as he meets her eyes. "Where are you, pumpkin?"

"Paris."

"Pa- what?" Castle splutters, his free hand coming up in a fist to settle at his thigh. "Alexis, could I please speak to Mommy again?"

There's a clattering as the phone is passed over, and Kate stands. She doesn't need to be here for this part. From the burning waves of anger rolling off of him she sees it's not going to be pretty. And really, she doesn't want to hear him hashing out the details of his relationship with Meredith.

* * *

"All good?" Beckett asks, glancing up to meet his eyes as he strides towards her. She's curled up on his couch, her knees up against her chest and her chin pillowed there. It seems almost like fear, not the fierce little girl who always tried things first, tugging him in the riptide of her adventurous streak.

Rick sinks down at her side, carefully not touching her. "Yes. Meredith took her for lunch, apparently. In Paris. And forgot to tell me about it. They'll be home by lunchtime tomorrow."

"That's great."

The cuff of Kate's button down is tugged past her wrist, fingers curled around it, and there's something so childlike in the gesture that he breaks, the careful distance between them gushing onto the hardwood.

His arm slides easily around her shoulders and he tugs her into his side, the slender line of her body folding against him. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just. . .you called me."

Rick dusts his mouth to her temple in supplication, the caesura of her words rippling all through her as if she's unfinished, a shadowed attempt at where she wants to be. "I needed you."

"But why. Why me?"

"You're my best friend, Kate." He offers, wanting so badly to sip from her mouth and show her how very much more than that she is. How she's fast becoming his constant, a lodestone.

She grits her teeth, the shockwave of it against his shoulder and the hum of tension in her body make his guts thick, like wading through molasses. "Castle, you've only been shadowing me a couple of months. How can I be-"

"It's just the same." It spills out of him before he can even get a chance to work it through in his mind, the words never even coming into contact with his brain. "It's the same as it always was between us."

"I'm a different person now, Rick. I'm damaged goods."

He lets her go, lets her sit back from him because he _knows_ her. He knows it makes her crazy to have people touching her when she's talking like this, that she finds it suffocating. "So what? Aren't we all, to some degree? It only makes you more extraordinary, Kate."

"Castle." She murmurs, catching her lower lip in her teeth. "I don't know how to do this."

"Be my friend? You're already doing it."

He tries desperately to ignore the steady drip of time passing without use, how much he might be wasting. He's going to beat it, the radiotherapy will work and he'll have years and years to persuade Kate that they would be great together.

She manages a trickling laugh for him, shaking her head as her lashes dust like shadows. "I know you want me to be more than your friend."

"I'm happy to have you back in my life. I missed you. Anything else, that's up to you." Rick shrugs, feels his face cracking open in that lopsided grin she seems to like. She gives it back at any rate, her toes sneaking their way underneath his thigh.

"Do you ever worry that you're wasting time?" Kate says, barely more than a whisper. She scrubs a hand through the fall of her curls, catching them in a knot at her nape and securing it with a hair tie from around her wrist.

She always wears one. He's noticed.

"How do you mean?"

Kate folds her legs and sets her palms at her knees, almost a lotus position. He knows she does yoga, showed up once at her apartment with a bottle of wine to find her breathless and sweaty. So yeah, perhaps she meditates too.

Add it to the list. Things Richard Castle wishes he knew about Kate Beckett.

"Just that. . .we lost twenty years."

"Okay. So you feel like we should be making up for lost time, then?" Rick says, battling to keep the fervent rush of hope from cracking in his voice. How desperately he wants her in his arms again, forever.

She catches her lip between her teeth, the trip and fall of her lashes seems like dusk. The amniotic black of nightfall wrapping around them both. "I don't know. I'm not good at this. Letting people know me."

"I already know you. I've always known you." Always loved her, and oh what he wouldn't give to say that too. To have her know that his whole world narrows down to her and his daughter, the two of them everything he needs.

"I'm different now."

He takes her hand, cradling it in both of his and smoothing his thumb over her heartline. "I've had a couple of months to fill in the gaps. People fall in love a lot quicker than this."

Her eyebrows migrate someplace close to her hairline and her jaw goes slack in shock, her hand in his trembling suddenly. Too late, he realises what he's said, but Kate is already gathering herself again, her eyes like flint.

"Are you. . .in love with me?"

"Oh Kate." Rick shakes his head, lacing his fingers through hers and drawing them up to his mouth so he can dust kisses over the sentry row of her knuckles. "I've always been in love with you."

"_Castle_." She grits out, her cheeks flushed and entirely appealing.

"You don't have to do anything about it. I'm good."

She nods, an ephemeral moment in which he watches the slow trip from panic to acceptance, flitting across her face like ticker tape. "And what if I did want to do something about it."

"Well then, Kate." Rick cradles her cheek in his palm, feels the nudge of her cheekbone underneath the sheet of gossamer skin. So beautiful.

She hums, leaning in to his touch as a hesitant, gorgeous smile blooms. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid I'd have to kiss you."

* * *

**Tumblr: **katiehoughton

**Twitter: **seilleanmor


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